


Better The Devil You Know

by Selenay



Series: The Demon and the Librarian [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Barney is not a good guy, Clint With a Tail, Crack, Demon Clint Barton, Interrupted Tail Porn, Librarian Phil Coulson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is looking for Clint.</p><p>Hint: he's not a friend. Or a good person.</p><p>Phil Coulson's life gets more complicated with every demon that gets added to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the wait for this has been ridiculous. But guess what? The wait for the next part will be really short. As in, tomorrow. I make no apologies for the cliffhangers, guys.
> 
> Thank you for everyone reading along and sending lovely comments. This series is huge fun to write and it's great to see people enjoying it.

"We have a lot to get through today, and we need to start taking down the Halloween decorations before we open, so can we please get started?" Phil paused, eyebrow raised, and the staff room went quiet. "Thank you. Now, item one--"

"Boss?" Darcy said, raising a hand.

Phil resisted the temptation to sigh heavily. It was the first Wednesday morning staff meeting after Halloween, and he could feel time slipping away from him too fast. The library opened half an hour later than usual on Wednesdays to give them time to hold a staff meeting, but that only worked if they could cover the whole agenda on time. He'd been planning to keep it short so they'd have time to take down the decorations around the door, at least, before the morning rush began.

Then he'd put together the agenda yesterday afternoon, and it somehow ended up being the longest one for six months. Interruptions weren't going to help, but Darcy was waving her hand, and her bangles--which he'd mostly given up on banning--were clattering noisily.

He gave in and nodded to her.

"Are we putting up the Christmas decorations as well?" she asked. "Because I've got these amazing Santas--"

"No," Phil cut in quickly. "No Christmas anything until we put up the winter reading program posters at the end of the month."

"Aw, boss."

"I've seen the file of letters from last year," Phil said. "No Christmas decorations until November twenty-ninth. You can spend the entire weekend covering the library in glitter if you want then." He tried to ignore the way Clint's eyes lit up at the mention of glitter. He really didn't want to know. "Which brings me to item one. Steve, did you bring the winter reading program poster sample?"

The poster Steve had designed was bright and cartoonish, which would hopefully catch the eye of their younger patrons. He handed it around, along with the bookmarks and certificates he'd designed, and for a couple of minutes the room descended into chaotic discussion. Steve's cheeks slowly turned bright red from all admiring comments.

When Phil judged they'd had long enough to admire--and his watch informed him that he was running out of time--he cleared his throat loudly. That didn't work, but Jasper's loud "Shut the fuck up everyone" did the trick. Phil ran through the rest of the agenda as fast as he could, covering the latest fire inspection, staff rotas, the newest hot book they weren't buying fifty copies of (no matter how long the hold list was), and arrangements for a local elementary school's Roman civilisation project, in record time.

"Last item," he was finally able to say. "The annual book sale is in two weeks. I'm sure you've all seen it in the calendar. Anyone who hasn't, please don't tell me this is a surprise because I like to preserve the fiction that you all check the calendar sometimes. I'll need everyone working that weekend to cover it." There was resigned nodding around the room. "Darcy drew the short straw so she's taking the lead on it this year. Keep an eye on returns and put anything you think might be a sale candidate in the marked box. Collection management is, sadly, a part of the job for all of us until we can afford a specialist."

"You can't miss the box," Darcy said. "Huge sign on it. Massive. If it's tatty, ratty, or Fifty Shades of Grey levels of overstock, it goes in the box."

There was muffled laughter around the room, and Phil let a small smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. "Darcy will also be reviewing the stock on the shelves over the next two weeks, so I'll be asking a few people to take extra shifts on the desks to cover for her. Clint, I'd like you to help her."

Clint's head jerked up, and he stared at Phil with wide eyes. There was a smear of chocolate on his lip from the doughnut he'd been eating. "Me?"

Phil felt his smile widen at the surprise in Clint's face. He definitely wasn't smiling at that tempting chocolate smear. Not at all. Nope.

"Yes, you," he said. "You've been shelving for us for several weeks. You're probably as familiar with the state of the stock as anyone."

"Oh." A small, pleased smiled flashed across Clint's lips, before he tightened them and tried to look fiercely disinterested. "Yeah, I supposed I could do that."

Darcy grinned and reached across Thor to fist bump him. "Yay, I've got a minion. This'll be fun."

Phil had a suspicion that Clint's understanding of 'minions' probably differed from Darcy's, judging by the startled look Clint gave her. He probably didn't want to know what demonic minions were or what they did. It would undoubtedly add to his nightmare cycle.

The staff slowly filed out, putting mugs in the dishwasher and grabbing the last few doughnut holes as they went, until only Phil and Clint were left in the room. Clint seemed to be deeply interested in the winter reading program poster he was holding, until the door closed and he looked up.

"Is helping Darcy an order, or a request?" Clint asked.

"Don't you want to?"

Clint shrugged, trying to look casual, although the tension in his shoulders gave him away. "It's not really up to me, is it? Sounds kind of fun, but..."

"I'm not ordering you to do it," Phil said. "It's your choice. But I thought it might be an interesting break from shelving."

"You're giving me a choice?"

Phil searched Clint's face for a long moment, trying to figure out why this was so confusing for him. It wasn't as though Phil had been giving him constant orders all the time. He'd tried to maintain a balance between giving Clint rules, so he didn't go on some kind of murderous rampage, and letting the demon have some kind of autonomy, but...

Huh. Phil tilted his head. Over the weeks, Clint had dropped hints about what he'd been asked to do by previous masters, but Phil hadn't really put it all together before. Not in a way that gave him a wider picture of life for a demon while it was under a human's control.

Clint didn't get given choices. Not under normal circumstances. He was summoned, someone asked for something, he was sent back to where he came from. That was how the deal worked.

Nobody ever asked him whether he wanted to do something. Even Phil hadn't in the early days.

Phil sucked in a sudden breath at the revelation. He'd stopped thinking of Clint as 'just' a demon a long time ago. Lately, he'd had to remind himself regularly of Clint's background, even when he was watching Clint sleep in his natural form. He'd begun thinking of Clint as a person without even realising he was doing it.

The thought should have scared him. It was dangerous.

Somehow, it didn't. Phil smiled gently at Clint and said, "I'm giving you a choice. You can stay on shelving duties if you'd like, or you can help Darcy. It's up to you."

Clint swallowed audibly. His voice sounded thick and slightly wobbly when he said, "I pick Darcy, boss. Sounds like it might be fun."

The smile he gave Phil was strangely shy, for Clint. There wasn't a hint of flirtatiousness in it, which wasn't precisely unusual anymore, but still wasn't normal either. Phil told himself that the heat he could feel in his face was just because the staff room was too warm, and not because he'd imagined himself licking the chocolate off Clint's lips.

It was completely unfair that he was more attracted to Clint when he wasn't conducting an over the top seduction attempt.

***

Phil was covering the returns desk late in the afternoon when the stranger arrived. He probably wouldn't have noticed anything was odd, except he was keeping an eye on the door because the LGBT teen book group was due to start soon. Some of the kids could be shy or wary when they arrived, and he'd learned that some of them just needed a friendly smile sent their way to boost their confidence.

Some of them needed more than that. Steve was surprisingly good at calming down scared teenagers, if Phil could alert him in time to catch them before they ran too far.

The stranger arrived during a lull in the usual post-school chaos. There was nothing specific about him that looked out of place. His coat looked more expensive anything most of their usual patrons wore, and his dark blond hair was fashionably dishevelled, but that didn't mean anything.

It didn't explain why Phil's teeth almost seemed to itch from the feeling of wrongness he exuded. It didn't explain the way Phil's eyes ached when he tried to focus on the stranger, or why every instinct he had was screaming at him to run.

Phil glanced around, but Darcy was still chatting easily with an older woman at the reference desk, and the people browsing the nearby shelves hadn't looked up. Nobody else seemed to be disturbed by the man's presence. Thor even walked past within a foot of him without taking a second look.

The feeling of wrongness only got worse when the stranger prowled closer to Phil's desk. He smiled lazily and leaned his elbows on the edge of the counter. His eyes were so dark that his irises almost seemed to meld with his pupils.

Phil had to lock his knees to stop himself taking an involuntary step backward.

"I'm looking for someone," the man said, his voice a throaty purr that clawed at Phil's ears painfully. "I wonder if you know him?"

It took two tries before Phil could clear his throat to speak. "We're not a missing person's bureau."

The man chuckled. It was a low, grating sound with no humour to it. "He's not missing. Merely...misplaced. I lost track of him some time ago, but I think you know where he is."

"I don't know who..." 

Except, Phil did know, and his tongue seemed to stick to his teeth as he realised it. He wanted to lie, to defiantly pretend that he didn't know anyone the man might be looking for, but he couldn't. The black eyes were boring into his head, sending his thoughts skittering in a dozen directions, so he couldn't pull one out to focus on.

"He's not..." Phil tried, but his voice died again when Clint pushed his shelving cart out of the stacks.

He looked cheerful, his face lighting up with a smile when he saw Phil. The cart was half filled with old books, which he was probably on his way to dump into the box for Darcy to sort through. His hair was messy and spiky, the way it always got late in the day, and his tie was loose and sitting crookedly.

The stranger noticed Phil's distraction, and he spun around, his smile widening immediately. "Clint!"

Clint stopped in the middle of the floor. All the happiness and colour drained from his face, leaving him looking grey and shocked. Even his blue eyes seemed to be a few shades paler. The stranger covered the distance between them in a few long strides and pulled Clint into a hug that Clint didn't return immediately. He stared over the stranger's shoulder with wide, blank eyes, and his hands hung by his sides.

In that moment, Phil hated the stranger with a rage he'd never felt before. The fear became a dull sensation at the back of his mind, almost completely consumed by the bright heat of his hatred. Whatever the creature was, it radiated wrongness and made Clint afraid, and that was something Phil couldn't stand.

The stranger released Clint and stepped back, but his hands clasped Clint's upper arms firmly. As if he was trying to stop Clint running from him.

Phil couldn't see his face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. 

"Aren't you going to give your big brother a hug? What happened to your manners?"

Clint's lips pulled up into something that couldn't be called a smile in any light. He looked like he might be sick. "I didn't think we had any."

"We always have manners. It's what keeps us alive." The man turned slightly so Phil could see his expression, filled with horrible glee. "For example, I politely asked this man whether he knew you. Manners. I could have just taken the information out of his mind."

"No!" Clint's hand shot up to fasten around the man's wrist, painfully tight from the wince that flashed across his face. "You won't touch him, understand?"

"Protecting a human?"

"Protecting the master I'm bound to," Clint said. "You'd do the same if I threatened your master."

A disgruntled pout crossed the stranger's features for a moment, quickly replaced with another smirk. "Whatever you say, little bro. Whatever you say."

Clint's fingers dug in the man's wrist until they turned white, and then he abruptly let go, shaking off the hands on his arms at the same time. He stepped around the guy to push his shelving cart closer to the returns desk.

Phil covertly looked around and spotted Darcy looking over to them from the reference desk. She turned her attention back to the woman talking to her as soon as she realised she'd been caught. Nobody else seemed to have noticed that anything unusual was happening.

Clint was still too pale, but he managed something closer to smile when he reached Phil's desk. He stayed on the customer side and gestured to the stranger. "Boss, this is Barney. My brother. Barney, this is Phil."

Barney moved to Clint's side and offered a greasy smile. "Phil. Do I have you to thank for my brother's state?"

Phil's mouth was still too dry, but he forced words out anyway. "In a sense. Perhaps we should discuss this in my--" he caught Clint's tiny headshake and corrected himself to "--our staff room."

If Barney caught the slip, he didn't say anything. He just shrugged. Phil beckoned Steve over to cover for him, before leading the way to the stairs and up to the third floor staff room. The debris from the meeting had been cleared away, but there was a fresh pot of coffee in the machine and a plate of leftover Halloween candy on the table in the corner. Clint and Barney talked in slow, hissed whispers while Phil poured coffee into mugs, trying not to eavesdrop on them. They all sat down, and Phil noticed that Clint took a seat closer to him than to his brother.

He tried to find that reassuring, but Barney's black eyes sent a shiver down his spine every time they fell on him.

"What are you doing here?" Clint said after a long pause. "I thought you were laying low."

Barney shrugged. "I was. Then I heard you'd found someplace good, and I figured, why not visit my little brother? See if he's got room for an extra?"

"Are you looking for a place to hide, too?" Phil asked.

"Well, if it's on offer." Barney grinned. "You seem to be doing okay by Clint, anyway. He's even got a little job with a nametag."

Phil bit his tongue hard as angry, vicious words tried to boil up and escape. He really, really hated Barney.

"It's only temporary," Clint said. "Just until the heat dies down and we can go home."

"Your master will really release you that easily?" Barney said. "You know how humans get when they've got pet demons."

"Most humans," Clint said, shooting Phil an irritated glare. "He doesn't ask for shit. I offered to eviscerate his budget committee, and he just writes memos to them. He won't even take the money."

"What's he keeping you around for, then?"

"Some kind of weird-ass duty thing," Clint said, far too casually. "He's got ethics or something. Can't let me roam around free, and hasn't figured out how to send me back when I don't want to go."

Barney's hand suddenly snapped out and took Clint's, lifting it so his shirt sleeve fell back to reveal the silver binding cuff. A sneer curled his lip. "You're seriously bound to him and he hasn't asked for anything?"

"Nothing important," Clint said, pulling his hand free. "You're not bound to anyone?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil had been aware that Barney had to be, but he hadn't allowed himself to think about it. The thought was too huge, too terrifying, and he'd been protecting himself from it. But now he took in Barney's black eyes, the scraping sense of 'wrong' that he exuded, and he was afraid again. More frightened than he'd been facing down the hellhound, which had been the most horrifying thing he'd seen until today.

Barney smiled. He lifted his hand and allowed his coat sleeve to slide back, revealing a dark red tattoo on the back of his wrist. It seemed to shift and writhe as Phil watched.

"Not bound with pretty silver trinkets," Barney said. "I don't have any power, but I can do whatever I want. Go wherever I want. And I wanted to see you."

"Who bound you?" Clint asked.

Barney shrugged and pulled his sleeve down. "Some human. He summoned me, but he didn't understand the rules."

"Is he looking for you?"

"Probably. Maybe. Doesn't really matter, does it? He's got no chains on me, not like that pretty silver bracelet of yours."

"It's not that bad," Clint said. "And it's not like Phil makes me doing anything I don't want to."

"You want a job with a little nametag?"

"It's not the worst thing I've ever done," Clint said. "Anyway, how are you planning to survive here without your powers? Everything costs money."

Phil refused to point out that Clint wasn't actually getting paid to shelve books. Not yet, anyway, but if he stayed around much longer then the board might start asking questions about the unpaid shelving clerk-slash-intern.

Barney didn't look troubled. He just smiled and clinked his mug against Clint's. "I'll find a way, you know me."

Anything Clint might have said was cut off by the door opening to admit Darcy. She waved at them as she headed over to the coffee machine, friendly smile firmly in place. After she'd poured a mug of coffee, she wandered over to their table despite Phil's attempts to will her to leave.

Barney's gaze dropped to Darcy's chest as she leaned over to snag a couple of mini bags of M and Ms. Her shirt wasn't indecently low for once, but Phil was sure the demon got a good eyeful anyway before Darcy straightened up.

He was equally sure that Darcy knew exactly what she was doing.

"Everything okay?" she asked, looking straight at Clint.

"Everything's fine," Clint said. "Darce, this is my brother, Barney. He's going to be in town for a few days."

Barney leered up at her. "I can see why my brother likes it here. Such great scenery."

Darcy's hands tightened on the handle of her mug, but she only said, "It sure is pretty in the city at this time of year."

It was a blatant lie, but Phil appreciated her effort to sound normal. It couldn't be easy with Barney's black, cold eyes raking all over her.

"Don't you have another hour on the reference desk?" Phil asked quietly.

"Yes, boss," Darcy said. "Just getting sustenance. Mrs Jeffries wouldn't stop asking questions, and my throat starting hurting about fifteen minutes before she finished."

She took a large gulp of coffee, demonstrating that she definitely needed the drink, and waved cheerfully to them as she turned to leave.

Her hand was on the door knob when a thought struck Phil, and he called her back. 

"Clint and I are taking a few hours leave," he said. "As his brother is in town."

"We are?" Clint said. Phil elbowed him in the ribs and he said, "Oh, yeah, we are. We'll be back tomorrow."

"Sure thing, boss," Darcy said. "I'll let everyone know?"

"That would be great." Phil was impressed by how calm and even his voice sounded. "Thank you."

Barney sat back in his seat with a small smirk as the door swung closed behind Darcy. "Taking me out on the town?"

"Taking you home with us," Clint said. "We should talk in private."

"Is that okay with your master?"

Phil plastered on the most pleasant, bland smile he could manage. "I'd be delighted."

***

The apartment felt too small to be comfortable. Phil wanted to give Clint and his brother some privacy to talk, but Clint's small frown when he'd started to head for his bedroom stopped him in his tracks. On the surface, Clint seemed happy to see his brother now that the shock had worn off. He didn't want to be alone with Barney, though.

Clint didn't seem to want to leave Phil alone with Barney, either. Phil was more than happy not to be alone. The thought of having Barney's undivided attention, those black eyes staring at him without distractions, made his skin prickle in a deeply unpleasant way.

So he spent the evening sitting at dining table with some books from the occult section he'd been studying and a legal pad. Sometimes, he even managed to read a page and scribble notes on it for a few minutes. Clint and Barney sat on the sofa, eating pizza and talking in low murmurs, while Phil tried hard not to listen. He caught a few words every now and again, despite his best efforts.

Harsh, ugly words, in a language that he didn't understand, which made him grateful he'd never thought to ask Clint about demonic languages.

Phil was stifling his third yawn in a row when Clint stood up and said, "Barn, it's late. I've got to sleep, okay?"

Barney made a disgruntled sound, but all he said was, "Sure, whatever. Got to be all fresh and wide-eyed for your nametag job tomorrow, right?"

A muscle twitched in Clint's jaw, and he tilted his chin up slightly. It was a gesture that Phil had seen more often than he could count, and he wondered how often Clint had been spoken to in that sneering, patronising tone. Probably more often than not, if his behaviour was anything to go by.

Phil piled up his books and legal pad and stood, not bothering to hide another yawn. "I need some sleep even if demons don't."

"He told you demons don't need sleep?"

Clint shrugged. "He never believed me."

"Your snoring made you hard to believe." Phil offered Clint a small smile. "You can share with me tonight; let Barney take the couch."

Barney smirked. "Yeah, he never asks you for shit. Right."

Clint flipped him off, which made Barney's smirk widen. Phil almost opened his mouth to defend himself, before deciding that it wouldn't matter what he said. Barney would assume the worst because it was his nature.

When he'd first arrived, Clint had been the same. 

Except, no, he hadn't been entirely like Barney. There hadn't been that jarring sense of wrongness radiating from him, or the blank ugliness in his eyes. He'd pushed, he'd tried to seduce and corrupt, but he'd done it almost as though it was a thing he thought he should do instead of something he revelled in. Barney would enjoy every moment of corrupting a soul, and he'd do it as slowly and painfully as he knew how.

Phil bumped his shoulder against Clint's as he walked past. "Ready?"

"Sure thing, boss," Clint said quickly. "'Night Barney. There's a blanket over the back of the couch if you get cold."

"Demons don't get cold," Barney said.

Phil could feel Barney's eyes on him as he walked to the bedroom, but he refused to look back. Some deep, ancient instinct told him that looking back at a demon would be a bad idea.

Clint headed straight for the bed as soon as they got through the door, throwing himself down face first on it in a boneless sprawl that took up the entire surface. "Your bed is great. I love it."

Phil closed the door and leaned back against it, holding his books and pad against his chest. "How do you know I wasn't going to make you sleep on the floor?"

Clint lifted his head and pouted over his shoulder. "Because the floor is hard and cold, and you don't want an uncomfortable, sleepless demon in the same room as you?"

"I thought demons don't get cold."

"Barney is full of BS."

"Barney is...something." Phil pursed his lips. "He was involved with whatever it is you're hiding from, isn't he?"

A soft sigh escaped from Clint's lips as he rolled over and sat up, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. All the cheerful flirtation melted away from his face, replaced by a worried frown. "That's one way of putting it."

"What would be another way?"

"Another way?" Clint said, after a brief pause. He shrugged. "Barney organised the whole clusterfuck."

"And he dragged you into it?"

"He's family. You've got to support family, even down where we come from."

"What happened when it all went wrong?"

Clint snorted bitterly. "What do you think happened? We all split and ran for the hills. Metaphorically speaking. Running for the hills down there doesn't get you far, not when there's a dozen hell hounds on your tail. Barney told me to run and he'd find me later, so that's what I did. I ran. Figured he did as well. Didn't want to poke around and ask. We always find each other again eventually."

"Is he dangerous?" Phil asked.

"Maybe. Probably. Kind of hard to tell." Clint cocked his head. "He won't kill us while we're sleeping, if that's what you're asking."

"I've got extra wards on this room," Phil said. "Just in case anything ever got through the other defences."

He didn't say anything more, leaving it to Clint to work out what he meant. Clint nodded and stared down at the rumpled duvet for a long moment. His expression was impossible to read when he looked up. "Do it. Set the wards."

Phil nodded. "Thank you."

It only took a couple of minutes to complete the chalk line hidden under the carpet and smear a drop of blood on the door lintel. Phil murmured the words of the warding spell, feeling power gather, and then flow into the walls with the last syllable. It left him feeling dizzy for a moment, and he put a hand out to steady himself against the bureau.

"Fuck," Clint said softly. "That's...what did you think might come after you one day?"

Phil straightened up and turned around. Clint had already changed into boxers and a t-shirt, and his clothes were nowhere to be seen. "I wasn't sure. But I've always been good with warding spells, so it seemed like a sensible precaution to have something ready."

"Phil, this shit could stop...could stop something way more powerful than me," Clint said. "You could drop a hundred hell hounds on top of us and they'd never get through this."

"It seemed like a sensible precaution," Phil repeated. "Can I get changed now?"

Clint waved a hand grandly. "Go right ahead, I'm not stopping you."

Phil lifted an eyebrow and waited. Clint leered.

"I'm not undressing while you watch," Phil said.

"Afraid I won't be able to control myself if I see a hint of ankle?"

"No," Phil said. "But wolf-whistling makes me uncomfortable."

"How about if I promise not to make a sound?"

"Close your eyes," Phil said.

He only realised his mistake a moment later when Clint closed his eyes and screwed them tight, his mouth twisted unhappily. Trying to take the order back would only make it worse, so Phil scrambled to strip out of his suit and pull on an old t-shirt as fast as he could. 

He sat down on the bed and reached out to touch Clint's wrist. "I'm sorry. You can open your eyes now, if you want."

Clint cautiously opened one eye and then the other, blinking a couple of times before fixing Phil with a scowl. "You know, it actually hurts when you do that. Real physical pain."

"I didn't mean to," Phil said. "If it makes any difference, that was an accident."

"Yeah, I got that," Clint said after a beat. "It still hurt."

Phil almost offered to kiss it better, until he remembered it was a very bad idea to tease about something like that, because Clint would probably take him up on the offer. And it was getting harder and harder to find reasons not to let him.

"We should sleep," Clint said abruptly. "It's late."

He squirmed around to get under the covers, pulling them into an even more rumpled mess than they had been in the process. Phil caught a glimpse of skin and muscular abdomen when Clint's t-shirt rode up, but he pulled the duvet up almost to his chin before Phil could get a real look.

Not that Phil wanted a real look. Definitely not.

Phil stood and carefully slid into the bed, lying almost on the edge and pulling a corner of the duvet over his waist and legs.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself," Clint said. "You don't have to fall out of the bed."

Phil shuffled a few inches further onto the bed and pulled the duvet tighter. "Don't hog the covers."

"I'd never." Clint grinned. "Want me to get the lights?"

"Thank you."

The lights went out immediately and plunged the room into darkness. Phil lay awake for a while, his mind whirling, but eventually the soft, even breathing from Clint's side of the bed lulled him into sleep.

***

Phil woke up early from a dreamless sleep and lay with his eyes closed for a while, his brain still fuzzy from sleep and working slower than usual. He was lying on his side, and he felt warm and relaxed, even though the air held a chill. The soft sound of someone breathing nearby should have worried him, because it had been years since he'd shared a bed with anyone, but somehow it didn't.

He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times. The only light in the room was from the streetlights peeking through the blinds and the soft glow from his clock, but it was enough to make out a head with messy dark blond hair lying on the pillow only a few inches away.

Memories flooded back: Clint blank-faced and unresponsive as his brother hugged him; Clint trying to pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

Inviting Clint to share his bed.

Phil wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that Clint appeared to have kept his promise to keep his hands to himself. He was sprawled on his stomach, as usual, and it was Phil who had edged close enough to feel the warmth from Clint's body. It was Phil who was too hot, and fighting not to reach out and touch.

Except.

Phil tried to move his hand, but there was something wrapped around his wrist, holding it in place. Something warm and alive, that shifted and tightened when he tugged against it.

He lifted the covers with his free hand and looked down. A red tail had wound around his arm twice and the tip was resting against his thumb. Clint seemed to still be asleep--his breathing hadn't changed--but his tail was holding onto Phil's wrist, and the tip started to move as Phil watched. It brushed against the centre of his palm before starting to slide up and down against his index finger.

Phil had never thought about hands as erogenous zones, but he was thinking about it now. The rhythmic motion of Clint's tail against his finger, so soft it barely counted as a touch, was sending heat flooding through his body. It was ridiculous and bizarre, and Phil didn't want it to stop.

Clint still had his face mashed into the pillow when Phil looked up, and there was no sign of tension across his shoulders. He appeared to be asleep, despite his tail's movements.

Phil wondered whether his tail was...doing what it was doing...in response to a dream. And then he wondered whether demons dreamed. It was another thing to add to his long list of questions about demons. So far, though, he hadn't found answers to any of his questions in the books he'd borrowed from the library. He wasn't hopeful there would be answers to this, either.

The easiest option would be to just ask, but Clint was very good at avoiding questions unless Phil figured out exactly the right phrasing to force an answer. Ordering Clint to do things was becoming something Phil felt more and more uncomfortable with.

The tail pressed against Phil's finger more firmly and he looked down. It tightened around his wrist for a moment, enough to feel but not to hurt, before it suddenly went limp and stopped moving completely. Phil frowned just as the tail unwrapped from his arm and withdrew so fast his skin burned from the friction.

Phil lifted his head and stared at Clint. There was a line of tight tension across his shoulders, and his breathing had turned fast and shallow, even though he hadn't moved.

"Clint?" he whispered.

There was no response apart from Clint burying his face deeper in the pillow. It was a miracle he could breathe like that.

Phil wondered why Clint appeared to be embarrassed about this, when he'd spent the last few weeks turning almost every conversation into a proposition. He wasn't exactly shy.

Clint was a very confusing person sometimes.

Phil cautiously reached out, crossing the few short inches between them to rest a hand on Clint's back, just between his shoulder blades. Muscles jumped and twitched under his fingers, evidence of the internal battle Clint seemed to be fighting.

"I know you're awake," Phil said softly.

Clint mumbled something into the pillow, but it was too indistinct to understand.

"I didn't catch that," Phil said.

After a long hesitation, Clint turned his head so that he was facing Phil. In the dim light, it was impossible to see whether his red skin had turned a deeper shade, but Phil wouldn't have been surprised if it had.

"Stupid tail," Clint muttered. "Sorry."

"I didn't mind," Phil said, without stopping to think. He winced.

Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "My tail molested you, and you didn't mind?"

"It really only molested my hand. One finger on my hand, to be precise."

"Aw, tail." Clint pouted, which combined with his messy bed hair to make him look much too kissable. "I swear, I was asleep when it started doing that. It's not my fault this time."

"I didn't mind," Phil said, this time with slow deliberation. He took a careful breath before adding, "It felt good, in a strange way."

"You're just messing with me now, aren't you?"

Phil shook his head. His hand was still resting on Clint's back, and the tension vibrating through Clint's muscles made him itch to soothe some of it away. For once, he allowed himself to give into the instinct. He rubbed a circle on Clint's t-shirt with his thumb, watching Clint's eyes as he registered the sensation.

Even in the dimness of the bedroom, he saw the moment when Clint's eyes widened and his lips parted on a soft gasp.

"Phil? What're you doing?" Clint asked.

"After all the offers you've made, I would have thought it was obvious," Phil said. "Unless you didn't mean any of them?"

A smile pulled at the corner of Clint's mouth. "I really meant a lot of them. Most of them. Pretty much all of them, actually. Are you actually saying yes this time?"

Phil flattened his hand against Clint's back, sweeping it up slowly until the short hair on Clint's neck tickled his fingers. The skin there was warm, so very warm, and he smiled. "I'm saying yes this time."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

Clint's eyes fluttered shut as Phil began lightly scratching his scalp, carding his fingers through Clint's hair to make it even messier and spikier than usual.

After a couple of minutes, Clint managed to mumble, "Guess not."

Before Phil could second guess himself or rethink, he stretched forward to kiss the corner of Clint's mouth. It was probably the most dangerous, ridiculous, fucking stupid thing he'd ever done, but he didn't care. In the semi-darkness, nothing seemed more important than pressing close to Clint and letting himself have this moment.

Warm breath puffed out against his lips, and when he pulled back, Clint's eyes were wide open. Staring at him.

"What was that?" Clint asked.

"If I have to explain, I'm going to wonder whether you're as experienced as you keep claiming," Phil said, trying to keep his tone gently teasing, even though Clint's question made his chest hurt.

Clint snorted. "Fuck you. I'm very experienced."

"Just not at kissing" went unspoken, but Phil could feel the words hanging in the air between them anyway. He was torn between rolling Clint over to kiss him until they were both breathless, and hugging him until the confusion left his face.

Clint solved the debate before Phil could tie himself into knots of self-doubt. He lurched forward and caught Phil's lips in an enthusiastically clumsy kiss, all teeth and hard lips, but still better than Phil had allowed himself to imagine. Phil's fingers tightened on Clint's neck without conscious command, holding Clint in place just in case he retreated again.

The pleased grunt Clint made as Phil returned his kiss relieved that fear immediately. His lips became softer, less clumsy, but the intensity of the kiss didn't diminish. Phil touched his tongue to the seam of Clint's mouth and he opened immediately, the kiss turning into something deep and needy, and so damn good Phil didn't want it to end.

He allowed Clint to nudge him onto his back. More than allowed, if he was honest; he enthusiastically encouraged it, because Clint pressing him into the bed felt so good.

Clint was only partially sprawled across him, and Phil tried to pull him closer so he could hook his leg around Clint's thigh and roll up against him, but Clint resisted. It made no sense, and Phil's lust-fogged brain couldn't process why it made no sense, but he couldn't bear to tear his mouth away and ask. That would mean stopping the kiss, which was clearly not something he would ever approve of.

He trailed his hand down from Clint's neck, tracing the bumps along his spine until he could slide his fingers under the hem of Clint's t-shirt. The skin there was warm and smooth, and he pushed impatiently at the fabric to get more of it.

Clint chuckled against his lips, which felt odd and fantastic all at once. The t-shirt suddenly disappeared, providing so much naked skin to explore that Phil couldn't resist sweeping his hand up and down the entire length of Clint's spine.

A soft touch against Phil's thigh made him gasp. It tickled slightly as it traced a line up his leg before delicately stroking the length of his hard, aching cock through his boxers. Phil gasped again and lifted his hips, straining towards the fleeting touch.

He could feel Clint's elbows on either side of his shoulders, bracing Clint while he kissed, and the knowledge that it was Clint's tail teasingly dipping under the waistband of his boxers was too much. Phil groaned, the heat that had been pooling in his gut spreading through his body until he felt too hot, too tight to last.

When Clint lifted his head, tearing out of the kiss, Phil heard someone make an embarrassingly loud whimpering noise. He was amazed there was enough blood left above his waist to flush when he realised that sound had come from his throat.

Clint's smile was smug and delighted. "That's okay?"

"More than okay," Phil said, pulling Clint down for another deep kiss.

The tip of Clint's tail continued to tease and touch, leaving him shuddering and aching. He wanted to return the sensation, but one hand was trapped under Clint's body and the other couldn't get enough of the smooth heat of Clint's back.

He tilted his head back when Clint started trailing kisses down his jaw and mouthing at his pulse point. There was so much heat and desire clouding his brain that he didn't hear Clint speak at first; he just felt lips moving against his skin.

"Who do you want me to be?" Clint mumbled again, more distinctly this time. "I can be anyone you want."

Phil didn't pause to think. He whispered, "You. Only you."

Clint lifted his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "No, really, who do you want me to be?"

The question made the air rush out of Phil's lungs, and he went cold. He stared up at Clint, trying to read his eyes, but it was still too dark in the room to make out anything except the shape of his lips. The short horns half-hidden in Clint's messy hair caught a hint of light from somewhere--perhaps a streetlamp outside--and Phil reluctantly peeled his hand away from Clint's warm back. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the horn before tracing a finger over the pointed tip of Clint's ear.

"You," he said firmly. "I want you, just as you are."

Clint's body suddenly went rigid with tension, until he almost seemed to be vibrating with it. He didn't say anything for a long, terrifying moment and then he was rolling away, out of the bed. He crossed to the door in a few long bounds and put his hand on the doorknob before Phil could stop him.

There was a bright flash and Clint swore loudly, pulling his hand away quickly to nurse it against his chest.

Phil's body was cold where Clint had been touching him before, so cold he was amazed he wasn't shivering. He sat up and stared across the room at Clint, who was hunching over his hand and muttering under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Phil asked.

Clint didn't look up. "I should go. I need to go. This was a bad idea."

"That was supposed to be my line. You're usually the one who thinks sex is a great idea."

"Do we really have to talk about it? Because talking about it makes it an even worse idea, okay?"

Phil's legs felt wobbly when he stood up, but his erection had deflated as soon as the wards flared against Clint, and it was exhaustion rather than desire making him unsteady. He crossed the room and put a hand on Clint's shoulder, half expecting it to be immediately shaken off.

Clint tensed again, but allowed the touch. After a minute, he almost seemed to lean into it, and a tight band that Phil hadn't been aware of seemed to loosen around his chest. Clint wasn't so far gone in whatever pain he was feeling that he couldn't stand Phil's touch. Not yet.

"Not talking doesn't make a problem go away," Phil said softly.

"How do you know? It might."

"I've got a lot of experience at not talking about things. It's the best way I know to ruin a relationship."

Clint did look up at that, but his eyes were still too shadowed to read. "This isn't a relationship. I'm a demon, we don't do those. This was sex, and you broke the rules."

"I didn't know there were rules to break."

"Well, now you know. There are rules. We can't fuck now, sorry. Better luck with the next demon you summon."

Phil swallowed. There was a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. "I don't want the next demon. There won't be a next demon. Not for me."

"Then I guess you're out of luck on the fucking demons thing." 

The words should have sounded bitter, but there was too much sadness in them to be anything except heart breaking. Phil wanted to gather Clint against him and hold him tight; to comfort him until whatever was twisting his mind let go. Instinctively, he knew that would be the fastest way to chase Clint way completely.

"Can you let me out?" Clint asked. "I need to...I need...my hand hurts. Please?"

Phil nodded and turned away to shut down the wards. By the time he'd finished, Clint had changed into in a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, and he was wearing his human face again. He was still cradling his hand against his chest gingerly.

"Do you need any help with that?" Phil asked.

"I've got it, I'm fine," Clint said quickly.

He hurried out before Phil could stop him, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Phil stared at the door for a while before sitting down on the bed, feeling hollow and defeated.

***

It was a slow morning in the library, which was exactly the opposite of what Phil had been hoping for. A chaotic, manic morning would have kept his mind occupied and away from tangled thoughts about Clint. Instead, he had far too much time and not enough work to keep his mind from wandering.

That wasn't really true. There was enough paperwork sitting on his desk to keep him busy for a week, but he'd tried sitting down with the latest book banning requests, and he'd given up after five minutes. The letters just made him irrationally angry, which wasn't the right frame of mind for writing a reasoned response for why he planned to keep _To Kill a Mockingbird_ on the shelves. Budget reports had been even worse, although those had been too boring to focus on, instead of too rage inducing.

Breakfast at the apartment had been strained, even though Barney had disappeared while Phil was in the shower. Clint had shrugged when Phil asked about him, and returned to single-mindedly eating his way through the largest bowel of Fruit-Loops-and-chocolate-milk Phil had ever seen. All the sugar didn't seem to help Clint's mood: he was quiet and unhappy, refusing to meet Phil's eyes, and he disappeared into the stacks with his shelving cart as soon as Phil opened the library door.

Not that Phil had been a ray of sunshine all morning, either. Darcy had even asked him what was wrong when he emerged from his office and offered to replace her on the returns desk. She shook her head when he insisted that he was fine, and shoved a stack of books into his hands to approve for the book sale.

"Did you fight with Clint?" she asked, sliding another stack of books for the sale along the returns desk to him.

Phil flipped through a dog-eared copy of _It Happened on a Summer's Night_. "No."

"So, he looks like you kicked his puppy because everything's so fine?"

Phil pretended not to hear her, and a customer thankfully walked in to distract her at that moment.

He was checking the back pages of a battered copy of _Cat Among the Pigeons_ when the hair on the back of his neck suddenly prickled and a cold shiver ran over him. Phil looked up in time to see the tail of Barney's expensive coat disappearing into the stacks where Clint was working. That feeling of wrongness made his head throb, and he clutched the book so tightly the pages started to bend.

"Phil Coulson?" a low, feminine voice said.

He turned. Darcy was still processing the huge pile of books her customer had brought in, paying no attention to the woman leaning on the returns desk next to her.

"Phil Coulson?" the woman repeated. Her straight red hair just brushed her shoulders when she cocked her head curiously. "You are Phil Coulson, aren't you?"

Phil frowned at her. She didn't radiate the strong feeling of wrongness that Barney did, but her eyes were pure, endless black. Demon black.

"I'm Phil Coulson," he said carefully. "And you are?"

The woman's lips curved into a small smile. "You may call me Natasha."

She held out her hand and he took it automatically. Her grip was firm without turning painful, dry and slightly too hot to be human. When she pulled her hand back, Phil felt a slip of paper slide between his fingers. He hesitated before carefully closing his hand around it.

"I'm looking for someone," Natasha said. "He's here for his brother. I think you know where they both are."

Phil said nothing.

Natasha nodded, as though his lack of response pleased her. "I'll find my own way."

She headed unerringly towards the stacks Barney had gone into, and Phil didn't hesitate before following. He heard them before he saw them, the angrily hissing voices of people trying to argue without being overheard. Rounding the end of the shelves, his breath caught in his throat at the tableau in front of him.

Barney and Clint were only a few feet down the row, and it was pure luck that had kept anyone from seeing them. The returns desk was visible from where Phil stood, and Darcy's customer would only need to step back a couple of feet to see down the row of shelves. If anyone walked through the entrance and didn't immediately turn to the returns desk...

Phil didn't want to think about would happen if anyone saw what was happening.

Barney had an arm around Clint's neck, he'd twisted Clint's arm behind his back. Clint was scrabbling at Barney's wrist, trying to pull it away, and his eyes were wide with pain and fear.

Natasha stood in front of them, her arms crossed over her chest. "This is taking too long."

Clint grunted as Barney twisted his arm higher.

"He won't take the deal," Barney snarled. "He's wearing some human _bangle_ that won't let me take us home, and he won't take it off."

"You'd trust one of his deals?" Clint said. "I thought you had more fucking brains than that."

Natasha chuckled. "I told you he wouldn't believe in your deal, Barney. He's not an idiot."

"And I told you to stay out of my business," Barney said. "This deal--"

"Isn't what you've told Clint," Natasha said. "Tell him the real one. It's only fair, as he's the sacrificial pawn in it. He should have all the facts."

Barney glared at her, and Phil's skin crawled at the hatred and anger etched in his face. He couldn't move, was frozen to the spot, and he didn't know whether it was fear or some kind of demonic magic holding him there.

"Yeah, Barney, tell me the real deal," Clint said, sounding exhausted. Defeated. "What have you sold me for?"

"Tell him," Natasha said. "Or I will."

"We all get forgiven," Barney said, with obvious reluctance. "None of us have to run anymore, everyone goes back to what they were before."

Clint went very still, and the colour ran out of his face, leaving him as grey as he'd been when Barney walked into the library the first time. "If you give me to him."

"Yes."

"You'd sell me, so the rest of you can get away with what we tried to do?"

"Yes."

Clint's lips tightened. "And Natasha?"

She shrugged. "I'm just here to make sure Barney makes good on his deal. You know how it goes."

"Yeah, I know. You signed a contract."

"And I have to make good on it," Natasha said, slowly and deliberately. "It ends when you're in chains."

"And if I refuse?" Clint asked.

Natasha didn't look around. She held out a hand and made a twisting, clenching motion. Phil heard a soft gasp and turned in time to see Darcy collapse over the returns desk, eyes bulging as she choked and clawed at her throat.

"If you refuse," Natasha said, "do I really need to spell it out?"

Clint probably couldn't see Darcy, but Phil was in his line of sight. He must have seen something in Phil's face that clued him in, because his lips twisted unhappily.

"Who?" he asked.

Phil's throat felt dry as he whispered, "Darcy."

"Fuck," Clint said, and then he grunted as Barney yanked his arm higher again. "All right, all right, fuck you, I'll do it."

"Told you he'd gone soft," Barney said, his lip curling in a sneer. "Told you he'd found some human pets."

Darcy's choking was attracting attention. Jasper had abandoned his post at the reference desk to bend over her with a concerned expression. Behind them, Thor was tugging at his hair with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

"You'd better hurry," Natasha said. "I don't know how much longer she'll last. She's looking a bit blue."

"Phil," Clint said, eyes pleading. "Take the bracelet off me. Please. They can't take me while I'm still linked to you."

"How do I know this isn't a scheme to get free and go on some kind of rampage through the city?" Phil asked. All his instincts said it wasn't, but there were three demons standing in front of him, and instincts didn't mean much right now. "You told me it was your nature."

"Natasha's under contract," Clint said, his voice rough and thick. "She can't break a contract. She'll make sure I go back no matter what I want. Please, Phil. For Darcy."

Phil met his eyes. All he could read there was fear and desperation. No deceit, no gleeful lies. The fear had burned all of that away. Not fear for himself, either, but fear for someone he'd grown fond of. His blue eyes shone with it, and it was that, more than his words, that pushed Phil into action.

He walked past Natasha, careful not to touch her, and stood in front of Clint. Barney's cold black eyes bored into him, but Phil kept his back straight and his knees locked. He reached out and took Clint's free hand, pushing up the sleeve to reveal the silver band that had kept them linked since Phil had foolishly summoned him. The soft clink as he touched the release sounded unnaturally loud. He caught the bracelet as it fell away and stepped back.

Barney's triumphant smile was hideous.

He released his choke hold, but Clint didn't try to run. He waited passively while Barney drew a circle on the floor with his toe, the carpet burning in its wake and filling the aisle with the smell of charred fabric. Clearly, the tattoo Barney had proudly displayed yesterday hadn't bound his powers the way he'd claimed.

Phil took an involuntary step backward when the circle almost touched his shoes.

"Time to go," Barney said, yanking Clint into the circle with him. "Natasha?"

Natasha shrugged and lowered her hand. The choking noises stopped, and Phil heard Darcy's sudden inhalation with a dull sense of relief. He didn't dare look around, though. His gaze was fixed on Clint, who was standing beside Barney with his head down and his shoulders sagging. He looked completely defeated, and Phil's heart ached for him.

Natasha stepped delicately inside the circle and she smiled at Phil. "Remember my name."

Barney lifted his hands, and the tattoos on his wrist blazed brightly for a moment. Fire shot up from the circle, enclosing and hiding the demons completely, and the stench of sulphur filled the air. When the flames disappeared and Phil's tearing eyes cleared, all three demons had disappeared.

Sirens sounded distantly outside, and the soft murmur of concerned librarians floated towards him. He should see to Darcy, make sure she got to hospital where people could take care of her. There were so many things he should be doing, because this was his library and it had been invaded. It had been used, and his people had been hurt, all because he'd foolishly tried to experiment with magic that he'd known shouldn't be played with.

He glanced down at the piece of paper Natasha had slipped to him. Unfolding it, he slowly read the name written on it in ink that looked like dried blood.

He read the name again, committing it to memory.

Then Phil straightened his shoulders and tucked the paper into his pocket. For now, his people needed him, and he would do everything he could to make amends for what the demons had done.

But later...

Later, there would be work to do. Foolish magic to experiment with.

A demon to rescue.


End file.
